The Warrior's Progeny

By Jeny Heckman

Colton Stone, a newly traded tight end, arrives in his new city ready to play ball. His reputation is as beaten as his football helmet. When he receives a vacation invitation, he accepts. A decision that could be fueled by magical interference. When he meets Dr. Lillian Morgan, he isn't certain what to think.

A widow with two children, Lilly is looking forward to her friends' wedding. When she meets Colton Stone, his arrogant attitude only makes her long for the love she took for granted. She adores her work as a pediatric surgeon, but the football player reminds her of a child.

When black energy touches their world Colt and Lilly become the pawns of immortal gods. So is the love developing between them natural or part of a larger prophecy?

• Language: Unknown
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Jul 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781509232208

Book preview

Inc.

Lilly looked down at the football, lying prone and guilty in the sand, as realization hit her.

Oh my God, Que! Are you okay?

She examined Que’s head and neck checking for injuries, with rapid authority. A small goose egg already formed just above her right temple. A tiny cut opened in her eyebrow, from her broken sunglasses now laying in the sand, causing a small bead of blood to well up.

Used to the recklessness of her son and his friends regarding the sport, Lilly turned, gearing up for an impressive tongue lashing to teenagers.

What in the hell… she bellowed, turning around and smacking her face into the sweaty muscular chest of a massive redhead. Refusing to let the fourteen-inch height difference and the hundred and sixty pounds of additional weight intimidate her, Lilly balled her small fists on her hips, shifted her gaze up, and narrowed her eyes.

What in the hell is the matter with you? You’re on a crowded beach with a bunch of young children and families. You’re a grown-ass man. Can’t you catch a football? When he stared down at her in fascinated disbelief, she continued. There is a wide-open park just over there, she said, stabbing her finger in the general vicinity. Maybe you and your little friends—she looked over at all the massive men in his group, but continued undaunted—should go over there and pull your heads out of your asses.

Praise for Jeny Heckman and…

THE SEA ARCHER, winner of the Best in Category Chanticleer International Book Awards:

"The plot [of THE SEA ARCHER] is realistic and the romance is strong in this suspenseful fantasy romance."

~InD'Tale Magazine

~

"The mythology and fantasy combined [in THE SEA ARCHER] were extraordinarily woven together with the present, the past, the suspense, romance and the thrill of a mystery."

~Quirky K., Netgalley

~*~

Books by Jeny Heckman

published by The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

THE SEA ARCHER

THE WARRIOR’S PROGENY

DANCING THROUGH TEARS

The Warrior’s Progeny

by

Jeny Heckman

The Heaven & Earth Series, Book 2

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

The Warrior’s Progeny

COPYRIGHT © 2020 by Jeny Heckman

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Fantasy Rose Edition, 2020

Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-5092-3219-2

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-3220-8

The Heaven & Earth Series, Book 2

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

For my children, Paisley and Charlie:

my amazing warriors,

and the two biggest chambers of my heart

Please Note:

There is a Glossary on page 407 for names and terms you may find unfamiliar.

Prologue

Zeus’s eyes shimmered as he stumbled to a narrow stone bench, drained by an unknown force. He stood unblinking as he scanned the sky and the small window closing in on the mortal, modern world. The ocean spray, once his brother, Poseidon, floated downward and into oblivion. Only his salty scent lingered now. Placing an elbow on his knee, he supported his head with a broad hand and let his thoughts turn toward Apollo, who now joined his uncle in the Elysium. His beautiful angel-haired boy, instruments now unmoving, beautiful voice now still. The ruler closed his eyes and could still hear his music, the essence of his son.

Guttural screams bellowed from the depths below as something stripped the two descending gods of their remaining power. A hideous light and energy erupted from the bowels of Tartarus, suffusing pain into the center of Zeus’s chest, punching the breath from him, and causing him to gasp. He looked down at Apollo and Poseidon’s combined residual power sizzling through the veins in his arms, like the robust thunderbolts he wielded. When the final force permeated through him, he realized his brother and son now lay mortal. Zeus opened his eyes doubting the impossible reality, but the suspended drops of light and water still burned their truth into his mind, taunting him like a bully.

The mighty ruler gazed out over the vista. Summer blossomed all around him. The first two gods had sacrificed, so the prophecy of a dark age, and the return of his father Cronus to power, could be forestalled. A peacock walked by him in haughty reproach, feathers fanned in a rich display. The animal stopped to ponder the giant lilies spread open near his head, with derision. Walking to the next flower, the bird sparked an idea in Zeus’s mind of what the prophecy required next of the ruler.

The lily flower and peacock, sacred to his wife, Hera, fit her persona with pinpoint precision. Proud, adorned, and beautiful, Hera even had the glorious explosion of color and temperament. The goddess also had the uncanny ability to be remarkable in seduction, then fantastic in her jealous fury and indifference.

Zeus stood and paced, muttering his conclusions to the empty garden, in front of the cave he used as his temporary dwelling.

We’ve built the foundation with Poseidon and Apollo. Thus, we begin the destruction of this damned prophecy and its claim of death to the Olympians. We must support that sacrifice with a fiery devotion to me and to the family. Yes, Hera, should be next to provide stability to our fractured kingdom, but who to send with her? We need strategy, but also power—someone who will fight with determination.

Ares came to mind, but he tried to shake the notion loose. However, when the vision of his son returned, he let it develop. Ares, Violent and Untamed War, full of righteous ire, fighting for his mother, and his family. Once more the ruler of Olympus gazed across Earth but only saw Ares, holding up the small victory god, Nike, like a trophy.

Yes, he bears it often enough, Zeus said with bitterness of the young god’s bravado and resumed his seat. However, Fear, Terror, and Discord also ride in his chariot.

That’s because they provide me comfort. That’s more than you could claim, Father.

Zeus turned to examine the newcomer, oblivious to the fact that through his thoughts he summoned both Ares and his wife to the small garden.

What happened? Hera demanded without preamble, nor did she wait for a reply before continuing. Are you very weak? Are you hurt?

On the contrary. All is well, he replied in sad resignation and moved to stand, as she clutched at his arm.

You must not stay here, Zeus, the Okapnose will discover you, Hera darted a glance to the underbrush, fearing the black serpentine bonds lurked nearby waiting to fulfill the prophecy by capturing and dragging them all into the darkness of Tartarus.

In dismissal, Zeus showed her his back and turned to Ares. We require strength now and resolve within our family to be victorious. You must be next. He raised a hand for his son to clasp with grandiosity.

And you, he nodded toward Hera, will also go. For Ares is strength, and you, my majestic, are the family nucleus. You will now play your part through your descendants in fulfilling the prophecy to save us all.

But it is too soon? she stated with confusion, then eyed her husband with suspicion, perhaps wondering if he only tried to flatter her to get rid of her. Who will help you?

What happened with Poseidon and Apollo? Ares asked, speaking over his mother.

They were victorious. Zeus replied to his son and ignored his wife. The challenge is in the mortal descendants. In their time, the population is plentiful, and are reluctant to believe. Much slower than I foresaw.

Are they fools? Ares asked with agitation, before accusing his ruler, or did you not send warning?

Of course he sent warning, Themis, the Oracle of Delphi responded as she suddenly appeared in the clearing, with Athena. The mortals are not of our golden age—they put little significance on dreams, discounting them as figments of their imagination.

They resist seeing beyond their own emotions, Athena confirmed.

How can we combat their ignorance? Hera spat, appearing threatened by the all-knowing prophetess and Zeus’s daughter.

Poseidon could communicate with his spawn, but the time was brief and for the man, Finn, and his woman, Raven, enlightenment did not come as much as we hoped, Themis responded. We’ll only be able to do that twice more, with Hades and Zeus. The ruler paced in agitation.

Perhaps if Athena goes… Hera suggested. Zeus knew his wife wished to rid herself of his preferred child, rather than using strategy toward their predicament.

Strategy, Zeus murmured to himself, consider-ing. No, for now, we need overwhelming strength. He looked at Athena with affection, causing Hera’s jaw to tighten. His daughter picked up where the ruler left off.

Father’s right. Poseidon and Apollo sacrificed themselves to establish the infrastructure of our stand and our fight against the threat of Cronus. He waits for our power to weaken. The mortals require strength in the family, belief and trust in their potential soul mates. That is Marriage. Athena looked at Hera. They also need belief in one another to accept each of their fates, and our own.

Athena will remain for decisive counsel, Zeus stated again with finality, before glancing at his son.

Ares bristled. He shared the burden of war with his sister. Zeus knew that the brazen god understood Athena was the favored, and why not, for she came birthed from his own head, in full battle regalia. Ares, known for his physical and untamed nature, was too impulsive. The mortals heralded Athena for her strategic mind, and calm, measured demeanor. Where the warrior desired violence at any provocation, the strategist only fought for honor and cause. Athena, the virgin and virtuous, and Ares, the passionate, ruthless, adulterer. However, no one could deny his bravery, and daring devotion, to his family, regardless of how misguided it could sometimes be. Zeus knew his son must understand he had reason to choose him now.

Go forth in haste. We’ve exposed ourselves too long, and the Okapnose will soon discover us, bind us, and cast us into Tartarus. He divided his remarks to each of them. If Cronus captures just one of our number, we are all vanquished. He turned to Themis and gave a nod.

Feral ire and violence to tame, the Oracle eyed Ares, her voice a powerful monotone. For only then can we remain. She looked to Hera. Quell your covetousness that causes one to demand too much of another. If you prevail, you may save another.

Themis walked to the sheer wall of the cliff. A filmy material pooled in her eyes then spilled across her temples until it formed into a band tied around her skull. She lowered her hand and cracked a rib bone from her body that sharpened into a sword of ruthless virtuosity and directed it to the sky, chanting the prophecy.

Those that now rule will rue a day; When those they command refuse to pray.

An old, most powerful foe will find a way; To escape the bonds of yesterday.

Continuing to chant out the prophecy, she dipped her head toward the ground where Poseidon and Apollo lay deep beneath its surface, then raised it to Zeus. Even with her eyes bound, the ruler felt the weight of her unyielding stare, as she continued.

There they will remain for as long as time rules; Until the last bead of their blood is collected and cooled.

The outcome they fear, fate could yet reject; If the children of tomorrow’s lives intersect.

And in their quest, three discoveries must be found; Or the deities will face the Moirai and be cut to the underground.

First, god and mortal alike, there’s a weakness to conquer; And only from there, a key the next children may conjure.

Second, something gods have naught to know; Selflessness, devotion and love-eternal the hardest to sow.

The final discovery for this quest to take place; Is when all the children are in the same time and same space.

She continued to chant as the clouds parted and a beam of sunlight illuminated mother and son, like a beacon. Athena’s head swiveled as she scanned for danger. Themis chanted louder, as she spoke the final words of the prophecy.

And though their time of rule may end; Full assimilation of immortal blood, this Oracle will send.

For even if one pure drop remains; Ascending the steps, Olympians may again reign.

Silence reverberated off the nearby cliffs, and when Zeus looked again, mother and son, Oracle and daughter, had vanished, and once more he stood alone.

****

The ground above Cronus’s head trembled, as electricity and sparks flew across the room, and black power exploded into his body. He convulsed, his arms and legs flailing out. His chest heaved forward, and light permeated from it. Where Zeus felt the agonizing pain of his brother and son’s separation from immortal life, Cronus savored it with a rich indulgence.

So, Poseidon is gone, forevermore, his deep graveled baritone announced to the tense room. Echoes of residual power continued to snap off the walls.

He moved his foot with absentmindedness, and the Okapnose that incarcerated him pooled at his feet, swirled around in a thick, acrid fog, then vanished. Perplexed, his eyes traveled up his body to his hands. One by one, the black bonds of his captivity released him—albeit still in the bowels of Hell, but no longer shackled.

How can this be?

A whisper scurried across the stone and up his form until it breathed with seduction in his ear. Desire grew within you in its purest form. It breeds with Retribution, eager to mate with Victory and with this new enlightenment, a key unlocked to guide you. For I am Deep Abyss and I am the key.

Mighty Tartarus? Cronus dropped to his knees. Will you aid me in this endeavor and tell me what I need to know.

You are a Titan god, son of my nephew. You stand on Deep Abyss. It is here you sought to exact your revenge, so here, you must also seek your answers.

The whisper circled Cronus, who spun in the room, no longer able to contain him. Tartarus…I implore your aid. Excited, Cronus tried to collect his thoughts. What is this new power?

The Oracle, Themis, intercepted the prophecy before its completion and altered its conclusion. It means the prophecy and its conclusion has yet to set. She has empowered the descendants of your children and their children’s children. If their descendants are successful in their quest, they will destroy the prophecy which you created.

What can I do?

You conjured Fates to do your bidding, did you not?

Yes, through Retribution and Misery.

You also conjured others and laid them in the Moirai mask when you manipulated The One and sent them all to the modern world. You brought Death to the sea creature and Doubt, Insecurity, and Pride to Apollo and Poseidon’s spawn. Those gods, now mortal, rest in the Elysium. However, they set the foundation for defeat of your prophecy. The Elysium does not allow their omnipotent power within its realm. So, upon their arrival, it transferred—split between the mighty Zeus and the old Titan king.

I have their power? Can I now leave you, Tartarus?

You contain a measure of their power, as does Zeus. Though your bonds are no more, you must find your way from the Abyss to Daylight. In the labyrinths of the Underworld, who let no man pass once the end of days has begun, your journey will be difficult.

Then what good is this power?

Each god will transition to the Elysium where only you and Zeus will gain their endowment. If their spawn succeed, they will thwart you. If any quest is not complete, you will control the fate of all. As your power grows, so will your knowledge to solve this labyrinth.

The Okapnose once more circled Cronus, and he eyed them with suspicion. I dreamed of this raven smoke, these bands. What is it that held me captive?

"The Okapnose holds you captive no more. They also lie in the Fates’ mask, created that insidious eve of the prophecy. They are conjured from your mind and seek to do your bidding—to destroy as you do. It is the deadliest plague left, but not the only. It can control aspects of weakness, of which the mortals and gods alike have many. It entraps not only the body, but the mind as well. You now have limited access to it, without being aware you’ve been making use of it, and even now, it searches for the Olympians on your behalf."

If it finds them?

On this plane, you will hold Victory. On the other? You will capture and control the weak mind.

If I find my way to the light of Day, Cronus said, grinning, will it reinstate my personal power?

Yes, in measure, with time.

And Zeus will grow weaker with each effort? the old king decided, then asked, And what of these descendants? How can I stop them?

Zeus’s power will grow as your own until the last, Tartarus corrected. You may use the Primordials, the essences you laid within the Moirai’s mask, but I warn you their strength, like yours, is weak and new in that world. As you strengthen, so may they, yet only in measure, with time.

I can send Primordials to weaken their resolve. Does Zeus know of this?

You may, yet only those conjured within purest Desire. Again, I caution you, Zeus may do the same. He learns this only now, from Themis, Tartarus stated.

I can affect the modern world, Cronus said with conviction to the room, then turned. Whom did Zeus send next?

His lady Hera, and the warrior Ares, to set strength within the unions of the mortal seekers, now that the foundation is set. You have until the Immaculate Conjunction, when all affiliated planets intersect, beginning with your Saturn to Zeus’s Jupiter.

And with that, Cronus stood alone, standing in disbelief a moment, before a slow smile feathered across his ancient face. He analyzed Tartarus’s words. Freed. However, he would need to find his way from the Abyss. No small feat. Hera would cross next, the jealous Libra, and Ares, the hardheaded Ram.

Jealousy! Envy! Rage, Pride, and Arrogance, come! For I have a vocation for you.

Chapter One

Well, shit.

Colton Stone dropped his tattered leather satchel onto the cool marble entryway of his new home. He scanned the space and doorways to adjoining rooms. The hours and expense did not escape his attention. The complete grandeur the interior designer had created left the comfortable and modest home he grew up in deep in the dust. Soon, she’d be arriving to explain things, twitch, and hang on him, so he toed off his shoes, and stepped over his luggage toward the expansive kitchen.

As in the manner of most men, he opened the refrigerator and peered inside. A six-pack of his favorite IPA winked out at him. Being a football hero did have its perks sometimes. The invasive and ridiculous questions about his favorite this or that resulted in the inviting, frosty bottles lined up in a row in front of him. He snatched two of the beers and cantilevering one cap against the other, popped off a bottle cap before replacing the unopened bottle back into the refrigerator. Taking a long thirst-quenching swallow, he sighed over the long afternoon of dozens of sports journalists asking him how he felt about leaving Texas, the fans seeking autographs, and the long, dismal flight to Seattle. Large French patio doors to his left looked encouraging, so Colt padded the distance, eager to see the view and feel the night’s cool embrace.

As he neared the threshold, he glanced to the right and considered the two heavy, ancient looking spears crossed at their centers, and the great Trojan helmet protruding from the wall. The weapons, given to him by his late grandfather, illustrated his gladiator roots. Pausing long enough to look at them, he experienced the familiar tingle throughout his body. Colt glanced around the rest of the room and discovered the interior designer had taken his warrior theme to heart. The displays, cold and ruthless, gleamed under the spotlights. With heightened expectation, he turned to open the double doors and stepped out onto the veranda, and the beautiful view of glossy Lake Sammamish.

Someone had mowed the lawn, and the aroma of fresh cut grass permeated his nostrils. Colt tipped the bottle to his mouth and smirked. Well, if he had to trade his home, life, and career from the dusty heat of Houston, Texas, he could do worse than this serene landscape of deep blues and greens.

An extensive, lagoon style swimming pool, filled with inviting aquamarine water, consumed the center of his new backyard. A fountain, composed on a rock formation, babbled into it. Golden-light appeared from somewhere in the granite-tiled depths of the pool, and on its surface, the true black of night devoured the deep purple and cobalt sky.

An impressive chime echoed from somewhere in the house, announcing the interior designer. Colt sighed in resignation to the task ahead and strode back through the living area. He kicked his bag out of the way before jerking open the heavy leaded-glass door.

A stylish woman somewhere in her fifties stood before him, beaming in an immaculate pearl suit and matching six-inch stiletto heels. She extended fingers to him that he didn’t know if he should shake or kiss. Drawing his brows together in irritation, he shook her hand, and instantly regretted it, as her fingers felt like large, al dente, rigatoni noodles.

Mr. Stone? Angela Stanford. It’s fabulous to meet you, at last. Of course, Mr. Iverson has told me so much about you. Sam, that is. Sam Iverson, she clarified, in case he didn’t remember the name of his agent and manager. And of course, I’ve seen you play. Naturally, I hoped to arrive before you, but of course, you just whisked right through the airport. She transformed her fingers into running legs, her sleek silver and black bob swaying with each gesture. Have you looked around any? Are you happy with everything?

Of course. Colt smiled and let his eyes dance off the lights at her.

She must have realized her nervous faux pas, and grinned, pointing one long, rose enamel-tipped finger.

Oh, you, she beamed at him, and they dropped into a heavy, awkward silence.

Well, please, come in, he said, and stepped back to allow her entry. Once inside, Angela looked around the dwelling with obvious anxiety. He assumed to check it out and make sure they had placed everything in its correct location. Angela returned her gaze to him with a nervous smile and tittered.

I’m so sorry. She blushed. I’m sure you get this all the time, but I’m an enormous football fan, and designing the interior of your home has been my true honor. Thank you for entrusting it to me.

Not a problem at all. He laid a hand at the small of her back to keep the momentum moving forward down the hall. I just got here myself. So, let’s see what you came up with?

When she just continued to stand rigid in the foyer, star-struck, he took a deep breath and turned away from her. Rolling his eyes, he strode down the hall and heard her sigh. Glancing into a hallway mirror, he caught her gaze fused on his ass.

How tall are you, Mr. Stone? Angela asked, as she finally scurried to follow him. Colt turned, and she blushed, as if in disbelief she’d said the words out loud, adding, That is, if you don’t mind me asking?

Six-seven, two hundred and sixty-five pounds, he replied, expecting her next question. He ran long fingers through his thick, copper hair, hating the mindlessness of idle chit-chat. Inspired, his eyes, the color of expensive cognac, found hers. Maybe I should try out for football. What do you think?

When she blushed yet again and dipped her head, while laughing so hard he worried she might burst the large blue blood vessel revealed just under her makeup, at her temple.

As the couple moved through each room, Colton admired the expensive, dark furnishings Angela chose for most rooms. Deep burgundy walls, with worn, black leather sofas so supple he thought he might just crawl in one and sleep there that night.

I decided on burgundy because red incites passion and anger, and I thought to myself, ‘Angela, he probably has enough of that on the field.’  The woman gave a high girlish giggle and slid her fingers down a damask drape.

You can never have too much passion, can ya?

No. She giggled again. Not in my book.

Looking around at all the furnishings that he now claimed as his, Colt reveled in the newness of it all. He’d left almost everything back in Texas, when the wealthy oil tycoon wanted the football hero’s furnishings, along with his estate. After fourteen years of playing professional football, he indulged a whim and purchased the seventy-two hundred square-foot home in Bellevue. Colt would live out the rest of his life, career or not, in Washington state. He wanted his relocation days over and desperately needed a fresh start.

By the time they completed the house tour, he wanted—no, craved—quiet from the endless stream of babbling, another beer, and bed. Angela had been none too subtle in laying out a jersey for him to autograph in his man cave. Next to it lay a binder full of information on his new home, complete with passwords and appliance instructions. She left with the signed jersey, a smile, and an enviable commission.

Gaining a second wind, Colt took his time and walked through his new domain again. Six bedrooms, seven bathrooms, and a commercial kitchen, though he didn’t even cook. He had a closet the size of a bedroom, a rec room that would make grown men cry, and dining inside and on the outside balcony. A wine cellar, steam room, pool house, and a private pier jutting out into the water rounded out the opulence.

Now, he stood alone on the patio again, bewildered and not a little overwhelmed. What in the hell would he do in this enormous house all by himself? Colt made multi-millions on his contracts over his career. Though his earlier years were a bit reckless with toys, women, and parties, the last decade was spent saving, for no other reason than he had everything he needed, and in darker moments, wondered if he’d need the money for medical issues, once his career was over. The cellphone in his back pocket began to ring. He withdrew it, and proceeded to the refrigerator to retrieve that final beer for the evening.

Yeah? he barked with impatience.

Hey bud, you all moved in? Sam Iverson’s soft melodic voice washed over him like a cool, refreshing wave in the heat of summer. What do you think of it?

It’s big, I’ll tell ya that.

The tall, glass window beckoned, so he moved to it and stared out into the darkness. He could smell the deep hops of his IPA and tilted it back for another swallow.

All right! Well, I’m sure you’re tired from everything today, so I’ll make this as brief as possible.

Appreciate it.

Okay, so I talked with Bill Mitchell, he said, speaking of Colt’s new head coach. He wants you to come over to the athletic training center tomorrow morning at ten. That doable?

Yeah, I can make that work. He say why?

Just wants you to get all your passcodes and the final paperwork complete. Then, I guess he wants Derek…

Watson? Colt asked, referring to the teams’ quarterback.

Yeah. He’ll show you around the ATC a little and then the stadium, to tell you what’s what.

Really rolling out the red carpet, huh?

You bet your ass they are, Sam said with confidence and pride. This should be a good fit for you. Don’t you think?

We’ll see.

We will at that. His agent laughed. Okay, well, get some sleep, and welcome to your new home, Colt.

Thanks, man. We’ll talk soon.

You got it. Oh, hey, have you heard from your old man?

No, he’s still pissed at me. Why?

He keeps calling, asking if you’re in Seattle yet. I told him I wasn’t sure, which he took for a yes. So, I’m sure he’ll be calling you soon.

And with that Colt’s cellphone beeped. Looking at the caller ID, he grimaced.

Well, speak of Satan himself. I got him calling in right now.

Good luck. Sam chuckled and disconnected the call.

Hey, been awhile.

And why do you think that is? Andrew Stone retorted, then continued, not requiring his son’s answer. You talk to your coach yet?

Iverson just told me he wants to see me tomorrow to get things straightened out.

What he wants is to hear straight from the horse’s mouth that you won’t fuck with his team dynamic.

I won’t fuck with the team dynamic. He just wants to…

Keep your head in the game, his father continued, as if Colt hadn’t spoken, not in your pants!

Colt exhaled, exasperated. Look, I told you before I didn’t sleep with Carlson’s wife. He told people that to…

Whatever. You’re there to play football, Colton.

I know why I’m here, Dad! Colt snapped. A furious flush ran up his neck.

Watch it, his father threatened. You’re there to be the best.

I am the best, or haven’t you been paying attention?

Still got that guy from San Francisco on your heels though, don’t ya? Andrew retorted. Execution, excellence, focus, and fury.

Focus and fury, Colt said the last part with his father. Yeah, you might have said that a few million times over the years.

Damn it, stop being a smart ass and listen for once. The only one of those you got down is fury. Your fucking temper.

Yeah, well, wonder where I got that from.

Oh no, you brought this shit storm down on yourself with that mouth of yours.

"So, what you’re saying is you want me to be